Scene: Virgin Atlantic Check-in desk, Gatwick

Sunday morning

Darrell waits in the queue, then when it’s his turn, walks up to the counter, smiling

Darrell (handing over passport): Hi, I’m checked-in already, just need to print out my boarding pass.

Counter: Thanks. Flying to Orlando?

Darrell: Mmm, yes. Thanks.

Counter: Any bags to check-in?

Darrell (turning head to the left and right to indicate the bags hanging off the respective shoulder): No, thanks. I just have my laptop and my overnight bag.

Counter (not smiling any more): You’ll need to check one of them in.

Darrell (looking puzzled): Really? Is there a problem?

Counter: Let me weigh them. Put the bag on the scale for me.

Darrell (places overnight bag on the scale): Okay?

Counter: And the laptop bag.

Darrell (places the laptop bag on top of the overnight): Okay?

Counter: Sorry. You’re only allowed 10kg.

Darrell (looks over at the scale reading, adopts puzzled expression): It says 10.2kg.

Counter (switching on laser eye-beam stare): You’re only allowed 10kg.

Allow me to stop the scene at that point. In my head I am about to explode. In practice, I know that venting frustration in these situations is rarely a good idea. Respond immediately and my limbic brain is doing all the talking; pause for a second and my more rational pre-frontal cortex has a chance to survey the situation.

Fortunately, I managed to get past the limbic moment. Spooling the clock forward a couple of hours to the point I was boarding the plane and realised there were over 200 empty seats, I think that if I’d known this while I was at the counter, it would have been much more difficult to stop my emotions from doing the talking. With 200 empty seats, every passenger on board could be carrying an anvil and the plane still wouldn’t be over-weight.

Getting past the ‘limbic moment’ is necessary in order to create a win-win solution. I’m pretty certain I didn’t want to check my bag in and thus ensure a 20 minute wait at baggage claim in Orlando in order to retrieve it, and I’m also pretty certain it was better for all the Virgin baggage handlers if I handled my own bag. A limbic reaction would have almost guaranteed a lose-lose outcome.

Once my PFC was in control of the situation, I knew I was in a classic ABC-M emotion game. And that meant if I was to be allowed to keep my bags it was necessary for me to get the Counter Agent feeling like her Autonomy, Belonging and Competence were heading in the right direction.

The ‘Belonging’ aspect seemed like it was the biggest challenge: she was in officious Virgin Atlantic Check-In Staff ‘us’ mode and I was ‘them’ – another troublesome passenger. If there was going to be a solution to this problem, my first challenge was going to be getting us both into the same tribe.

I looked around at the other passengers in the queue. Desperately trying to find a tribal link between me and the Agent. Then I said to her, ‘it looks like I’m the only non-tourist on the plane. Not sure how much work I’m going to get done on the plane.’

I wasn’t sure this was going to work, but when she smiled, I had an inkling we were now both in the same tribe. The tribe of ‘people working when everyone else around them is on vacation’.

Next up Autonomy and Competence. I looked at her and shrugged my shoulders.

There was a pause.

‘I expect you have a bottle of water in your bag,’ she said.

I looked at her. My turn to smile. ‘I expect I do,’ I replied.

‘Make sure you drink it before you board.’

‘Definitely,’ I responded.

‘Here’s your boarding pass,’ she looked into my eyes, ‘I moved you away from the worst of the small children’.

‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘my hero’.

We both knew there was no bottle of water in my bag.